The Abandonment of Snaketown
by stuartmurphy405
Summary: Reacher crashes a honeymoon


In the winter of 1992 Emily Pearson sat in the student lounge on campus at Boston College. Her notes on Mesoamerican culture scattered across the table and a half eaten blueberry muffin sat ignored and crumbling at her right elbow. Her coffee was cold and so were her ideas, her mind preoccupied by the date she had been on the night before with Martin Fagan.  
He had been Emily's class mate for three years and yet she had never spoke to him, not before he boldly approached her and asked if she would join him to a gig in a bar.  
Slightly taken aback and yet feeling whimsical she had agreed, and proceeded to have a night she couldn't remember yet would never forget.  
She couldn't remember the band that had played, some Seattle grunge band, nor could she remember how many drinks she had or how many times she laughed. They left early and ate pancakes at a little coffee shop she knew she could never find again, and shared a cab home, the cost of which was just an arbitrary number in her mind.  
Yet she would never forget the way he took her hand at just the moment she was feeling overwhelmed by the crowd and noise in the bar. She wouldn't forget the feeling as he put his arm around her shoulders walking to the coffee shop. And the one thing she would always remember was the kiss they shared outside her dorm house.  
One date and she now sat, in unwashed clothes, at a table trying to finish her essay on a subject she had been researching for three years and her mind was a blank. The only thing that played over and over in her head was the kiss. The only thing that mattered was the kiss and when she would see him next, which she knew from his room mate would be three days. That would be three days to forget and three days to complete the essay that sat swirling in front of her. Three days she hoped, because, after that, who knew when she would get another chance to finish it?

Martin Fagan had been mesmerized by Emily Pearson on their date together. He had sat behind her for three years and watched and wondered what she was like, without ever gathering the courage needed to talk to her.  
His was a love crush that had blossomed over the years and yet she never knew, she just sat looking forward, taking notes and listening so intently to the lecturer that he was sure she would never be interested in him.  
That was until his room mate in the dorms had had enough.  
Charles Fleming, Chuck to his friends, stood up one evening when Martin was lazily daydreaming of Emily and loudly slapped him across the back of the head.  
Chuck was a small Midwesterner with a big voice and bigger attitude. What he lacked in his frame he made up for with his anti-political ramblings and diatribes on whichever subject he was against that week, be it deforestation, the greenhouse effect, the Gulf war or anything else that had irritated him.  
But what had irritated him most that week was Martin's constant pining for a girl he had never spoken to. So Chuck had made him a deal. Take his two tickets for the grunge night at Harley's Bar and ask the girl to go, or forever keep his mouth shut.  
It was an offer he couldn't refuse, and with the motivational help of a flannel wearing wolverine, Martin gathered all his courage and came right out and asked. And she said yes.  
The date was everything he could have hoped for. He didn't like the band, and he could tell Emily wasn't interested either, so, feeling brave from his beer, he took her hand and asked her to go outside with him. He couldn't believe his luck that such a beautiful girl was interested in him, and he hung on every word she said, only managing to babble something resembling pancakes, which seemed to go well.  
The rest of the date was a blur, he wasn't even sure who paid the cab home, but he knew he had to call her.  
But the ever reliable Chuck stepped in and told him to wait three days, then she would be his forever.

It only took five years for Martin to propose and three months for Emily to say yes, and after six months of planning they were married in a small ceremony in a Boston church that neither of them had been in before.  
It was the insistence of Emily's mother that the wedding took place in the church, which she claimed had come to her in a vision. But with no real objections themselves, the happy couple went with the idea on the basis they picked their own honeymoon.  
And that's how, in the summer of 1999, Martin and Emily were walking up the sun scorched dirt road to Snaketown, Arizona.

At the top of the dirt road, hidden behind some rocks and bare shrubs, were two large black SUVs, with two men in each.  
One man was speaking Spanish out of the driver side window, while the passenger in the other SUV was translating into English for his driver, a moustachioed man with a wide brimmed hat.  
It was an intense discussion, that neither party seemed particularity happy with, but a compromise was made, and the English speaking SUV drove off, kicking dirt up into a small cloud as it sped down the road, swerving as it passed the honeymooning couple.  
It was followed a moment later by the second SUV, going slower and taking a long look at the two figures walking up the hill.  
"Isn't this place off limits to the public?" Emily asked, as she watched the cars descend the hill and turn towards the main road.  
"After all the trouble it took to get a permit for us, I would hope so. They said no one had started a dig up here since the 70's."  
"Come on, I think it's just over this hill, I can't wait to see it." Said Emily, as she playfully jabbed Martin in the arm, and took off, running up what remained of the hill.

The Redwood Motel stood between a Jiffylube and a Korean tofu restaurant, but was also within walking distance of the Arizona College Prep campus, where Mr. Charles Fleming was just starting a new job as a 7th grade teacher.  
Chuck had shed the long hair and flannel shirts around 1994 and, much to Martins surprise, had decided to become a teacher. They had stayed in contact, and it was through Charles friends and a few associates of old Boston professors, they had managed to get the dig permit for Snaketown.  
It was here that Martin and Emily had booked a two week stay in room 12, and it was here that a black SUV came to a stop in front of room 13.

Jack Reacher was travelling light as always. He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back and some money in his pocket as he walked up North Arizona Avenue when he realised his stomach was empty too. The realisation had struck him when the smell from GiGi's café and BBQ reached him, and he made a sharp turn in through the door to the greeting of sizzling meat.  
He took a table near the window, ignored the menu and asked the polite pretty young waitress for the special of the day and a large glass of water.  
The waitress gave him her complimentary smile and went to fetch his order.  
The food was good, warm and tasty. He had the BBQ ribs &amp; chicken, with corn, coleslaw and baked beans and left a tip over 30% after the waitress had told him about the cheap motel next door, the Redwood.  
And it was because of the young pretty waitress that Jack Reacher booked into room 11 under the name Mr. John Tyler.

It was warm and dry at the Snaketown excavation, and after four hours on hands and knees, Martin and Emily were ready to head back to the hotel. They had two weeks to work undisturbed and had only planned to find and scout the dig sight on their first day trip, but had stayed longer than expected after an amorous decision to make love in the shade of a giant rock over looking the site.  
Heading back down the dirt road, they were surprised to see one of the SUVs coming back up the hill. It slowed as it approached them on it's passenger side and the window silently slid down. A man looked at them both with small slits for eyes and Martin could see the driver, wearing a cowboy hat, also giving them a look that suggested he was not a man to make enemies with.  
"What are you doing here?" Asked the man in the passenger side, a slight accent in his voice, Mexican thought Martin.  
"We're here for the Snaketown dig, we're archaeologists." Answered Martin as he looked at Emily, a quizzical look crossing his face.  
They both turned towards the man in the SUV but before either could say anything, the driver stamped the pedal and the SUV shot up the hill, leaving them both in a lung bursting cloud of dust and exhaust smoke.  
"What was that all about?" Said Emily, as soon as her throat was clear.  
"I have no idea, we can check with the school later, see if there is anyone else supposed to be up here."  
"Yeah, lets go to the motel, I need a shower, and so do you."  
"Together?"  
"If you're lucky."

Jack Reacher slept after his big meal, awakening at half past eight. He stretched, had a shower, brushed his teeth and dressed, and was ready to leave his room and explore the new city by nine.  
As he opened his door he heard a man shout and pound on the door right next to his.  
A large man with an accent was using both hands to slam against the door.  
"Come out _gilipollas! _What you think you are doing here?"  
"Hey, can I help you?" Asked Reacher, pulling his door closed behind him.  
"You can't help me _gringo_, go back inside before I cut you open and use your insides to strangle this _pendejo _in here." The man slammed his hand against the door as a punctuation point and used his free hand to pull a very large knife out from under his jacket.  
Reacher opened the door to his room and gave the man a small nod, a submission to the man's orders, and stepped inside.  
After his shower Reacher had used a small towel to dry his huge frame, and had hung the towel over the smaller radiator in his room. It was still wet with only a light warmth through it, and he picked it up and headed for the door.  
The man was now kicking at the door but stopped long when he saw Reacher exit his room for a second time.  
"I though you were smart, but your an _idiota._" He said, pointing the knife at Reacher's chest.  
Reacher had the towel in his hand, and as the man looked down at it he flicked it hard and connected the wet end with the man's right eye.  
As he screamed and flung his hands up to his stinging eye, Reacher curled the towel around the wrist holding the knife and twisted the hand back. The knife clanged as it bounced on the ground and Reacher caught it on the volley and kicked it into the parking lot where it came to rest under an SUV.  
There was no real injury to his eye, and the man opened it just in time to see a huge fist slam into his face, closing both his eyes.  
Reacher stood over the unconscious body and draped the towel over the face before looking through the man's jacket for I.D.  
Inside was a wallet with $70, a drivers licence and assorted credit cards. There was also a set of car keys and a key with a little wooden diamond handing from it, the number 13 etched into the wood. It matched Reacher's own room key.  
Leaving the face covers and the man lying on the ground, Reacher walked over and gave a little knock on room 13. After thirty seconds there was no answer, so he tried again, then opened the door with the key.  
The room was exactly the same as his own, with the exception of a large duffel bag on the bed. He searched the bathroom and the drawers, but there was nothing else there.  
Before opening the duffel bag Reacher went back outside and fireman carried the body into the room, dumping it on the bed. The man was still unconscious but Reacher knew he would wake up soon. Even so he wasn't too worried.  
Opening the duffel bag he found some clothes and bathroom supplies, and at the bottom a small metal box, padlocked shut.  
He went back to the wallet and searched for any hidden pockets containing a key, finding none and took the drivers licence out instead.  
Ramon Cabrera was the unconscious man on the bed.  
Reacher disconnected the cord from the room phone and the wall, stuffing it in his pocket and took the duffel bag with the man's possessions and the metal box and left the room, locking it behind him.  
He walked the the SUV and opened the door with the keys, had a search through the glove box and found nothing interesting.  
He dropped the bag on the passenger side then popped the trunk.  
There was no key for the box in the trunk but there was pump action shotgun and a tire iron.  
Reacher thought the shotgun was maybe over kill for the small padlock, so he popped it using the tire iron and found a small gold statue of a man holding what looked like a ball.  
Reacher closed the trunk and headed back to the room, and as he did the door to room 12 opened, and a man came out holding a hair brush.  
"I think you might need something bigger." Said Reacher, as the man stopped outside the door and looked at the brush in his hand.  
"Where's the other guy?" Asked Martin, taking a step back towards the room door.  
"Don't worry about him, he won't bother you for a while. Mind telling me why he wanted to kill you?"  
"We have no idea, we don't even know who he is!" exclaimed Martin.  
"We?"  
Emily came into view in the door way, and Martin turned to look at her and urge her to go back inside. She ignored him and came out anyway.  
"What's that in your hand?" She asked, eyeing the gold statue.  
"I have no idea, but its seems important to the guy banging on your door." Said Reacher.  
"Can I see it?" Asked Emily, moving cautiously towards the giant in the parking lot.  
"Sure, if you can give me an explanation for what's going on." Reacher took a few steps towards the woman, who came up to about his chest. He handed over the statue and let her walk over to the man, where they both stared at it.  
"Well?" Reacher said, growing impatient, worried about when Ramon would wake up and start breaking his room apart.  
"Its an idol. Well, not really, its more like a trophy. A sports trophy, for a game called hip-ball." Emily was excited at the trophy, her voice getting faster as she spoke. She saw the quizzical look on Reachers face and continued.  
"The Snaketown archaeological site near by? Have you heard of it?" She asked.  
"I'm not really from around here." Reacher said.  
"Well, it was inhabited roughly a thousands years ago, and they have these ball-courts where sporting events and large feasts and other community events were held, a lot of Mesoamerican cultures have them, and they had a sport we now call hip-ball, its still played in some central American countries, and this looks like it could be a trophy from that time, it was probably awarded to the winners village because the winners would be sacrificed sometimes, I mean I've read about them but I've never seen one because in the 1930s..."  
"Hold on, how do you know all this?" Asked Reacher.  
"We're archaeologists." Said Martin and Emily in unison.  
"I see, so is it valuable?" Asked Reacher.  
"Well... sorry who are you?" Asked Martin, as Emily took a small step behind him.  
"Jack Reacher, and you are?"  
"Emily, this is my husband Martin. Are you a cop?" Asked Emily, popping her head up from behind Martin's shoulder.  
"Something like that, not so much any more. Is this why that guy wanted to kill you?"  
"We don't know, we saw him twice today, out at the dig site, but we were just there to work, we have no idea who he is."  
"Well, lets find out. Why don't you keep a hold of that trophy, go back inside your room and I'll see if I can get some answers. I'll come get you soon."  
Reacher watched the archaeologists go into their room and walked over to room 13. He put the key in, unlocked the door, pushed it open and took a step back.  
Ramon was waiting just inside the door with a small switch blade in his hand, which he thrust out into the open air before Reacher knocked it down and back handed Ramon on the nose, sending him back into the room.  
"I knew I should have checked your boots." Reacher said as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.  
"Sit down Ramon, we have a lot to talk about. Lets not waste time fighting, it's only going to end one way."

After some vague and half hearted threats in a multitude of languages, and some inspired use of a coat-hanger by Reacher, he discovered Ramon Cabrera was working with a Texan by the name of Kellor Gough, a real estate developer who had tried, and failed, to get planning rights for the ground surrounding Snaketown.  
During an unofficial, and illegal, excavation Gough's people had found the golden statue and were in the process of selling it on the black market to a buyer in Mexico. Gough had figured the sale of the statue would recoup some of his costs from the failed real estate venture, and knew better than to try to sell it in the US.  
How Martin and Emily came into it was just bad luck and bad timing on their part. They had been seen at the site twice and when they walked back to their motel and were spotted by Gough for a third time, going into the room next door no less, Gough had became paranoid and instructed Cabrera to find out what was going on. And take care of them if he had to.  
"And where is your boss now?" Asked Reacher, twirling the coat-hanger in his hands like a baton.  
"He went to another motel, I don't know what one." Spat Ramon, not daring to look Reacher in the eye.  
"So how were you going to find him?"  
"He was supposed to call but you ripped the phone out the wall."  
"So lets plug it back in."  
Reacher took the cord out his pocket and plugged the phone back in.  
"When is he supposed to call?"  
"Sometime around ten."  
"Well, its 22:13, so lets wait and see what happens."  
"How do you know that? You're not even wearing a watch."  
They sat in silence. Ramon on the bed occasionally wiping blood from his nose, Reacher on the edge of the battered bureau, watching Ramon wipe blood from his nose.

The phone rang ten minutes later and Reacher picked it up.  
"Hello."  
"You're not Ramon." Said a dry Texas drawl on the other end.  
"No, I'm just a guy answering his phone."  
"Where is he? Is he dead?"  
"No, Ramon is right here, all safe and sound. And he'll stay that way, and so will you if you hang up and get out of town. Tell me where you are and I'll send Ramon right over." Said Reacher.  
"So I was right. Are you that kid I saw at the dig site? Na, you can't be, he's got a Boston accent, I don't know what yours is. He working for you?"  
"You were right to be paranoid Mr Gough, but that kid you saw isn't working for me, he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time."  
"So it's just a coincidence he is next door to my motel room?"  
"Afraid so. Tell me, where are you? You seem to have left your driver and your car here. Did you take a cab to your new motel?"  
"Ramon isn't my driver, I drive myself. Who do you drive for, Mr?"  
"Hancock, John Hancock, and you already know who I work for."  
"I see, your working for the Taladro family. Fine. What do you want?"  
"I already have what I want, the question is, what do you want me to do with Ramon here? I can cut him loose, have him scuttle back to you and you both disappear, or I can mail him back to you, piece by piece."  
"You can do that for me? Well that's very nice of you Mr Reacher, but I think your mistaken."  
With that Reacher slammed the phone down and caught Ramon with an uppercut that knocked him off the bed onto the floor.  
"Lets go find your boss."

In room 12 a middle aged man with a cowboy hat sat perched on the edge of a battered bureau, exactly like the one in room 11 and 13, pointing a shotgun at a newly married couple sitting on the bed. Next to him on the bureau lay a gold statue.

Jack Reacher stood in the door way with a bloodied Ramon in front of him.  
"It seems we have a dilemma Mr Reacher." The slow Texan drawl elongated and exaggerated every word.  
"Let them go Gough, they have nothing to do with this."  
"Says you. I say you have one hostage, and I have two. Seems the ball is my court, so to speak."  
"And I say I can snap Ramon's neck before you can pull that trigger, so what are you willing to lose to leave here with a poor imitation of an Oscar?"  
Kellor Gough stood up from the bureau and turned the shotgun in Reacher and Ramon's direction.  
"That's a good question." He said, as he pulled the trigger.  
Ramon tried to throw himself sideways but Reacher had a hold of his jacket collar and used his momentum to crack his head off the door frame, knocking him unconscious for second time that night. Ramon crumpled in the doorway, and Reacher stepped over the body as Gough frantically pulled and pumped the shotgun, the pathetic click of the trigger his only reward.  
"Did you check it was loaded?" Reacher asked as he pulled a handful of shells out his pocket.  
"How did you..?"  
"When I checked your SUV earlier I emptied it. Didn't you wonder why I left it behind?"  
The jaw on Kellor Gough hung loose and Reacher tightened it back up for him with a ferocious punch that sent the Texan backwards into the bathroom and up-ended him into the tub.  
Jack Reacher turned back to Martin and Emily Fagan sitting on the bed. Martin had a burst nose but otherwise they were both unharmed.  
He picked up the gold statue from the bureau and handed it to them.  
"I can trust you to get this somewhere safe, being archaeologists and all?"  
"Yeah, of course. Thank you for.. everything." Martin said.  
"Does he know who you are? Did you tell him your names or anything?"  
"No, he never asked, he just wanted the statue and then he said he was going to kill you."  
"You have somewhere safe to go?"  
"Yes, we have a friend lives in town." Said Emily.  
"Good, go there. Lay low for a while, don't go back to Snaketown, I'll take care of all this."

Martin and Emily Fagan spend the rest of their honeymoon in Charles Fleming's spare room, where they kept the golden statue in a plastic bag wrapped up under the bed.  
They sat up at night and whispered about what had happened, and who this Reacher man was, before returning to Boston with a treasure in their carry on luggage.

Jack Reacher sat on a bus heading north with no carry on luggage, just a desire to keep moving, and hoped he never heard of Kellor Gough again.


End file.
